They crept forward, footsteps muffled upon the cold stone floor of the passageway. Torches, set in iron brackets far ahead, cast trembling pools of light that danced on the walls, revealing ancient inscriptions half eroded. The air was heavy, damp — an old tomb's breath, as though the earth itself exhaled onto their skin.
Li Wei paused mid script, his fingers brushing the carved glyphs at his side. His mind worked in slow circles. If the cipher is true, we may be walking toward a place that has been uninhabited for some time. The corridors ahead felt as though they had not felt a living footfall for centuries. We must partition the resources at our disposal wisely… He forced himself onward.
He stole a glance toward Leng Yue. She walked a pace ahead, her dark robes whispering along the floor. Though her face was shrouded in shadow, her posture remained unyielding, her gait confident. Many times over had he seen her in battle, her blade steady, her heart unmoved in the storm of conflict. But now—her countenance held a strange serenity, as if she too breathed the silence of the crypt.
He recalled how surprised he had been when she first revealed that swagger of dauntless resolve. In all their years of traveling, he had never heard a compliant word from her; never once had he known her to tremble. She gave commands to the wind, and the wind obeyed — at least, so it seemed.
Her combat ability was known—he had witnessed her dispatch foes with ruthless precision—but it was her calmness under pressure that left him mute. The way she squared her shoulders when the world threatened to break her, the way she drew in her breath before leaping into danger — that spoke of a soul tested and refined.
In his past life, Li Wei thought, he had only heard of such types in folklore or the whispering pages of forgotten legend. Those were the heroes of song and verse, the stalwart ones. He himself had known mediocrity: every deed half done, every promise half kept, until death claimed him. Here, in this new life, he strove for more.
The dim corridor, cloaked in half‑light, pressed memories upon him. He felt the stirrings of nostalgia — regret, hope, longing, all tangled into a single breath. His chest tightened. Leng Yue, walking beside him, must have sensed the shift.
"Something on your mind?" The question slipped from her lips quietly, yet it struck him sharply. She had been silent until now, as though she savored the hush, but in that instant she turned her head and her eyes glimmered faintly in the torchlight. A curious warmth stirred in her voice.
Li Wei swallowed. He touched his fingers to a rune‑etched wall as if seeking anchorage. "Just … reminiscing about times long past," he said in a low voice. He kept his words brief, unwilling to draw the veil too far aside. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, fixed on the corridor ahead and ran his thumb along his chin. He smiled — wistful, half‑shadowed.
He almost forgot the life he had left behind, lost in the echoing corridors of memory. But this was not that world. He had fled from wrath, he had sacrificed, he had rearranged his fate. He could not linger too long. "We should be approaching the first chamber," he added, voice steadier now.
Leng Yue nodded. She laced her fingers into a grip on the hilt at her waist, posture shifting into readiness. "Then we shall go forth, without delay."
They moved again, and as they turned a corner, the corridor widened, walls rising into vaulted arches. The air here felt colder, subtler, as though the stones themselves watched. Dust motes drifted in the torch‑glow like restless spirits.
Li Wei's heartbeat hammered. Ahead, a heavy stone door stood slightly ajar, ancient hinges groaning at their intrusion. He laid his palm on the threshold, feeling the chill of the stone seeping into his flesh. The intricate carvings upon the door's face depicted dragons, serpents, celestial beasts, and human figures in supplication. He traced one carving: a celestial phoenix raising its wings. The glyphs beneath were partly faded; he murmured aloud, "The phoenix ascends once more… perhaps a clue to the cipher."
Leng Yue joined him, peering at the runes. Her voice was soft, but firm: "The prophecy says the flame must never die — and so the tomb guards this spark. We must tread lightly, lest we awaken more than we expect."
Li Wei nodded, then pushed the door fully open. It moved with a reluctant creak (the sound echoing down the hall) ~ creeeee‑eak. Inside was a large chamber, its ceiling vaulted high, the far wall lost in gloom. Pillars ringed the room, and in the center lay a dais. On the dais, a low stone altar: timeworn, cracked, with a shallow basin in its middle.
They stepped in, their boots echoing on marble. Li Wei paused to examine the dais' carvings — serpentine coils, lotus petals half‑eroded, swirling clouds. Around the edges, inscriptions in the ancient tongue: "Only by sacrifice is flame reborn." He murmured the line under his breath. A shiver raced through him.
Leng Yue moved to the altar, kneeling, hands hovering above the basin. She fished in her satchel for a vial of golden liquid — perhaps oil, or some sacred essence. Li Wei followed her movement, heart pounding. She poured a small drop into the basin. The liquid spread, glistening.
For a moment nothing happened. Then — a soft rumble, the ground beneath them quivered, dust drifted from the pillars, and a faint glow bloomed in the basin. Light, like liquid gold, flickered upward, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Leng Yue straightened, sword at the ready, as the light swelled. Li Wei backed toward the pillars, wary. The chamber whispered — a low hum, as though ancient machinery awakened. ~ hmmm‑mmmmm The walls seemed to shift, faint lines of glyphs glowing. The very air thrummed.
Li Wei exhaled: "By the Ancestors' Breath … it stirs." His voice was awe‑tinged.
Leng Yue's eyes narrowed. "Stay alert. What we awaken may guard more than knowledge." She raised her blade, light glinting.
At that moment, a distant stone mechanism clicked. A crack opened in the floor beside the altar, sending fissures radiating outward. The dais trembled. Li Wei's heart leapt; he lunged forward to brace the altar, gripping its edge, fingers scraping the stone's surface.
Leng Yue moved to his side swiftly, boots clicking. She planted her feet and pushed against the dais's base. Together they held.
The fissure widened, and from it came a surge of golden light. From the darkness arose forms: ghostly silhouettes, faint as mist, but unmistakably warriors—armored specters, blades drawn, eyes glowing.
Li Wei's sword was in his hand before he knew it. He shifted, stepping back, meeting the nearest specter head‑on. He swung. The shamshir rang — clang! — meeting phantom steel. Light fragmented, echoed. ~ clang. The spirit recoiled but pressed on.
Leng Yue darted forward, her sword a silver arc, cutting at another specter. Her movement was fluid, precise; she seemed to dance, each strike economical yet fierce. The specters hissed, their forms flickering. Dust swirled around them as stone bits fell.
Li Wei was overwhelmed by the collision of past and present. He ducked a phantom's blow, rolled, then countered with a slash that passed through the specter, scattering it into motes of light, like embers in wind.
"Leng Yue!" he roared, lunging to her side. "Forward!"
They fought side by side, blade and will aligned. The specters came wave upon wave, yet the golden flame in the basin pulsed, as though feeding their strength and torment alike.
As the clash raged, Li Wei's mind flared: images of his past life, regrets, and now this second life mingled. Through the roar, a single thought echoed in his mind "I will not let my tale end here."
Leng Yue glimpsed that flash of rage in his eyes. Amid blows and parries, she felt a warmth, subtle but stirring.
Finally, the last specter dissolved into motes. The chamber fell silent but for the hum of the altar's light. Dust drifted. The golden flame steadied, bathing the dais in a gentle glow.
Li Wei exhaled, blade lowered. He reached to touch the basin; warmth met his fingers, the light trembled like a heartbeat. Leng Yue approached, sword sheathed, breath even.
She studied him, voice low: "You have changed, young master. Not by birthright, but by sheer will."
He nodded, eyes still fixed on the flame. "Only a flame tested by a storm may burn ever brighter." He turned then, meeting her gaze. "The path ahead is clear."
She inclined her head, lips curved faintly. "As our foes plot to defy us, so too must we rise up to the task."
In that silent chamber, amid the relics of antiquity, two souls affirmed their pact.
They advanced toward the rear of the chamber, where another doorway loomed.